


The Tale of Ser Aveline

by wtgw



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Secret Mage, Awkward Flirting, Confessions, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Injury Recovery, Marriage, Repressed Magic, Secrets, Soldiers, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtgw/pseuds/wtgw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline's kept a secret all her life.  She has hidden from it, run from it, and seems to have made a life without it... until she meets someone who just might figure it out for himself.</p>
<p>from a prompt on the DA kmeme, set just before the events of DA:O and DA2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of Ser Aveline

It was morning, about 6 o'th'clock. Early enough for the grass to still be wet and the sky to still be tinged with pink, but late enough for the sound of a few Chanters singing inside. She was barefoot, as was the tradition in Gwaren, and though she usually much preferred to be better protected in her attire, today she couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of wet grass between her toes. Her husband's arm slipped around her waist, the fine linen of her dress tickling her sides as he did so.

"Aveline," he whispered in her ear, sounding as giddy as a schoolboy for all that she was happy and at peace. "Av'... we're married!"

"Yes, husband."

"I've never been married before, you know."

"Nor have I, husband," she laughed.

"Think we'll figure this stuff out?" She could hear the smile in his voice, feel his hot breath against her cheekbones, and could barely answer for the joy she felt. She could feel a rush, like summer wine in her veins, though she hadn't yet had a sip: this was intoxicating, this was. All of it. All of... everything.

Aveline Du La– Vallen, that was, Aveline Vallen (Maker's sake, that would take a bit of getting used to) never for a moment in her life had thought that she would someday be married. And to this man, of all people! "Rude," "stuck-up," "snobbish," and "judging by his nails he'd never tilled a field in his life," was her opinion of him when they'd met. But he could wield a sword like no other, and his faith was genuine. That was enough, at first. The rest came later.

"We'll figure it out as we go," she replied to her husband. To Wesley. He kissed her, and she realized that she'd already figured it out.

\----------------------

They'd met in 9:25 Dragon, when she was only Aveline Du Lac, Officer of the King's Army. As soon as the Chantry sisters that had tended her wounds finally let her out of bed (Andraste bless and keep the Revered Mother far away from me), she'd taken immediately to the practice field. She was eternally grateful for their help... she never would have survived had she not already been so close to the township when the 'spawn attacked her men. But she had been a-bed for a week and a half! Now lay fellows be damned, templars be damned, Revered Mother be thrice damned damned damned (forgive me, Maker), she was getting out of that room and she was grabbing the first sword and shield she could find and she was beating the ever-loving shite out of something.

She only hoped that her injuries hadn't mucked up her fighting form too badly. The thought made her breath catch in her throat: if she was physically defenseless, the only thing she'd have to rely on was her... no, nevermind. That was out of the question. She pushed the worry back down into her stomach as she approached the Templars' training field.

It looked empty today. Lucky – she wouldn't have dared practice if there were Templars around.

It, of course, was only ten minutes before one did show up. And, of course, it had to be that snot-nosed shit of the bunch.

"You sure you should be doing that, Ser?"

"Kn- Knight Corporal Vallen?" Bugger. She did not just stammer. She grunted. Because she was practicing her shield work. It was a practice-grunt. Yes.

"You sure you should be doing that with the shield?"

"I promise I won't break it."

"No, no I mean should you be practicing when your arm's still hurt."

"S'not hurt anymore. Should be fine." Please please please go away.

"Heh. Did - did you mean the shield?" he chuckled. Bloody Templars. Why couldn't they leave her alone? They never minded their own business, and it always made her afraid that somehow they just knew... 

"Did I mean the shield what?" she grumbled back, still avoiding eye contact and emitting an aura of 'LEAVE ME ALONE.' She tried to ensure that was the only aura she emitted.

"That you wouldn't break it... were – heh – were you promising not to break that shield?" He kept chuckling. Aveline could only hear malice in it. Childish malice, of course; nothing more than the boys back in South Reach who'd pulled her hair and called her Freckle Frog so many years ago. Still made her want to smack him, though.

"Have you actually broken a shield before?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"What, and you haven't?" She'd dented beyond repair more than one shield in the army. If this... boy was actually questioning her abilities --

"Not one that weren't made of rotten elm, I haven't," he replied with a chuckle. "And not for years, leastaways. Only real fighting I've ever had to do was take care of a few bandits from along the coast. And that was only twice."

"Really?" Aveline was... well, she was truly surprised. Here she'd always been told the Templars were the Divine's unerring right hand, never to be defeated. And here this man — for he was most certainly a man, by the scruff on his jaw and the few wrinkles around his eyes, and why was she looking at that anyway? — was as untried as any common Bannorn boy. And his laugh didn't seem so cruel now; more self-deprecating. More relaxed. 

"You've never been in battle?" she asked again.

"No, never!" He laughed out loud, but ducked his head as though he felt... embarrassed by that fact. It was, well, rather endearing. He was still a prat, though. "Anyway, I just wanted to come out to see how you were... d'you happen to want to spar?"

Aveline scoffed. "Spar with someone who has the experience of a 12 year old?"

The Templar's eyes narrowed. Aveline, for a moment, felt a bit bad about what she'd said. It wasn't the man's fault he hadn't been tried. He'd signed up for the job, hadn't he? It just... probably wasn't as exciting as he might have hoped.

"Look, just because I haven't been a-battle doesn't mean I can't fight. I had to hold my own against the best Templars in Ferelden to get my rank – not everyone gets made Knight-Corporal."

"Of course, Ser." Aveline nodded, eyes darting awkwardly to the side as she confessed: "I apologize." Eugh. She hated having to say that. It was never pleasant.

But the Templar Vallen seemed to perk right back up.

"So, spar?"

She agreed. Just to end this bloody conversation. She'd have to be extra careful, though – not let anything slip, not let anything show.

He'd... turned out rather fantastic, actually. For someone who'd never been in battle, he had excellent instincts. He blamed them on other Chantry orphans, constantly getting into scraps with each other. She'd asked why he hadn't listed them among his battle history. He laughed.

It was actually a rather nice laugh.

\----------------------

Aveline had reported back to her Captain once she was well again. The small Darkspawn band that had attacked her in the first place had been eliminated by her outfit, but almost all of her men had been slain in the process. One, thank the Maker, had been found by a merchant on the way to Dragon's Peak, who took pity on him and brought him along. He was still healing.

She had a bit of trouble forgiving herself for being one of the two only survivors from a group of over thirty men and women. Nightmares followed, and days came and went where she had to force food into her throat and keep moving with the hope that the guilt wouldn't overcome her. Or the demons who fed on such guilt. 

The next time she passed through Gwaren (it was on assignment, she certainly wasn't going out of her way, she just happened to be there, was all), she'd met with Ser Vallen for the noon meal. After her few casual questions after the Chantry's inhabitants and their health, he quickly honed in on the bags under her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the paleness that threatened to drain the color even from her freckles. Illness, she said. Just a cold running about the barracks. He was having none of it.

Ser Vallen had given her such a verbal thrashing over her own self-pity that she almost had to punch him. But it was just what she needed. She was acting stupid, thinking those things, and he told her she had no excuse for that because she simply wasn't stupid at all.

He'd also told Aveline to call him Wesley. 

Aveline visited the chantry in Gwaren several times after that. Merely passing through, a chance social call while she was in town, nothing irregular, certainly not. If she happened to spar in the practice yard a but longer than practical for someone on a mission, that was only because it was cloudy and she hadn't realized how far the sun had traveled in the sky. If during her bouts with other Templars, Ser Va-- Wesley was always there observing her form, it was only because they learned well from each other. If Aveline occasionally found it hard to speak, it was only because she was a woman of few words.

She didn't need to speak too much anyhow after her fourth visit. His mouth silenced hers efficiently enough, and Aveline thought she might just cry from the feeling. The blissful quiet. The soft touch she thought she'd never have.

"You'll have some caravan to escort soon, I hope?" He smiled, that little-prat-of-a-boy expression on his face she no longer disliked so much. "Really, I'll find a caravan for you to escort if need be." She punched his shoulder.

\----------------------

In 9:28 Dragon, Aveline sobbingly confessed all of her secrets. Wesley held fast to her and sighed over her head. She was in her linen shift and trews, curled against his chest, looking more tired than Wesley – or anyone, more likely – had ever seen her. He was only in his smock, having woken up as she stumbled in from her journey to Gwaren (he'd been waiting all week, overjoyed that he'd get to see her, only to have her collapse onto him and start crying) thirty minutes ago.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you – I should have just gone. I shouldn't put you in this position. I am so sorry, Wesley, I am--"

"I knew."

Dead silence before Aveline, her breath shaky, every inch of her tensed as if to draw her blade.

"What." Her voice was tight as well, almost enraged, but Wesley could tell, and Aveline could tell that he could tell, that this was not anger, but fear.

"Love, please, listen" Wesley murmured soothingly, adjusting the two of them so that Aveline could look at his face. He didn't like eye contact so much, but he knew she rather relied upon it to gauge a both person's meaning and honesty. After a deep breath, he continued:

"I'm a Templar. And you're... you're very good at what you do, fighting and everything. That's what kept me from noticing for so long..."

"N- noticing what?" Her eyes were wide.

"Av', really, let me finish," he half-jokingly whined. "Aveline, when you fight... all your concentration, all your energy, it goes right into that sword and shield. It's magnificent to watch, really. It's... you're beautiful."

Aveline didn't know whether to blush or nag him to get to the point.

"And you're really clever, see, so I had to focus completely on you every time we were sparring so that I wouldn't get completely walloped. It wasn't until I watched you sparring with Ser Jaren, and he accidentally got under your shoulder plate..."

"Shit." That was almost a year ago!

"Yeah," sighed Wesley, abashedly. "I figured that's what you'd say. Don't worry, it was only the once you slipped, and nobody else was the wiser for it. I just... well I'm a Templar, love! It's my job to be able to detect this sort of thing, even if it's only a bit of healing. But every other time I've seen you spar with others, you've been fine! You've kept it contained. Even when you've been injured or startled or... you always keep it buried. And you always keep it under control. It was just the once, I swear, I think you were actually a bit in your cups..."

He was right: she had been. They'd played a game of liar's dice and she kept bloody losing. It was stupid of her to spar after that. She was stupid, so stupid. Wesley sat up, his fingertips resting on each side of Aveline's face even as her red nose still dripped and her eyes still watered. She must have looked horrid...

But the way he was looking at her...

"And that's why, Aveline, I am not ever going to turn you in. Because I know you. I trust you. You'd never let yourself fall to the demons, I'm more certain of that than I am of anything. And I love you."

\----------------------

Wesley's arm around her, she couldn't help but feel that this was always how it was meant to be. Rumors of a blight to the south notwithstanding, nothing could keep her from feeling that this was just perfection. Wesley stood behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other resting on her shoulder. Her left hand came up to meet his, and she grinned when their red iron rings clinked together.

Both clothed in simple white linen, they were neither Templar nor Mage today. No. Today they were Married. Married as two humans in the sight of Andraste and the Maker's love. As Wesley kissed her bare shoulder (she always worried that her shoulders were a bit mannish, but after his rapturous, loving description of them last night over a few too many drinks of Chasind Sack Mead, they were now her new favorite part), Aveline couldn't help but cry a bit. Rather embarrassing - she'd now cried in front of the same man not once, but twice. Oddly, she didn't feel horrified by that. More comforted that there was someone she could cry with. Someone she could do anything with.

Someone she could be herself with.

And she was. Absolutely, gloriously herself. She felt like everything she'd wanted to be all her life: special, loved, strong, beautiful, extraordinary... but with this undercurrent of peace that she could only describe as normal. She'd never felt that way before; she doubted any Mage ever had. Today, red hair shining in the morning sun and skin brushed by the fog as it eased away, she felt every inch the Chevalier, every inch the storybook heroine. When Wesley kissed her hand, she felt like her own childhood hero, and she knew, somehow, that everything would turn out right.

He was her Templar, and he would always watch out for her. Even as she was plagued by nightmares of demons or of gruesome battlefields. He would protect her, as was his duty.

And she was Aveline. Because she'd never been anything else. And he loved that about her.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt on the Dragon Age kink_meme was for one of the non-mage characters from DA2 to have secretly been a Mage the whole time -- either they didn't know it, or they kept it secret, or they used blood magic to make people forget, anything like that.
> 
> So I chose my favorite, awkward, adorable character and asked "what would have happened if she had been born a mage?" Then this happened.


End file.
